Home Where it Used to Be
by godricshollow
Summary: This is a George Weasley songfic modeled after John Mayer's 1983. George comes home to the Burrow after years to find... nothing.


Disclaimer: John Mayer and George Weasley. You know what they've got in common? They're both copy written, worth millions, and I believe that I'm engaged to both of them. Obviously, it's not true. I'd never be engaged to them both at the same time, of course! So, while their hearts may belong to me, their bodies, possessions, and everything associated with them do NOT belong to me… yet. '1983' is a wonderful song sung by John Mayer on either his Room for Squares cd or his Any Given Thursday live cd. BUY THEM BOTH!

A/N: I like George. I like John. I like music. A lot. I'm listening to Feliz Navidad. How do you spell that? I can speak French, Pig Latin, a bit of Lebanese, but not Spanish. I take that back. I know the 'hot' song from Sesame Street! *You could fry and egg on the cement it's so _____! (Spanish word for 'hot' that sounds like kie-ent-ay)* ahem… Anyway. I did the math. Fred and George _were_ 6 years old in 1983. It was a perfect opportunity that I could NOT pass up. If you're interested in my idea of a 6 year old Fred and George, check out my fanfic Oak Leaves! Enjoy the fic!

1983: A George Weasley Songfic

Performed John Mayer 

            George Weasley was now a grown man. It had been over a decade since he had left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and begun Weasley Wizard Wheezes with his brother, Fred. Everything had changed slowly over the years, some for the better and some for the worse.  The wizarding world had undergone immense changes. The Dark Lord, Voldemort, had been defeated midway through the previous November, only 7 months ago. Every time it appeared as if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been vanquished, he had sprung back with an even greater force. Finally, the fear was gone. Wizarding families were coming out of hiding, mourning losses and celebrating survival. Perhaps the greatest loss to the wizarding world was the death of the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. Every wizard had suffered a personal loss, though. The more active in the 'Light Side' one had been, the more they lost. The Weasleys had not come out of the nearly two-decade war unscathed. Arthur and Molly Weasley had ended their lives side-by-side in one of the Final Battles. Other fatalities that had dumfounded the Weasley siblings were those of Angelina Johnson, Parvati Patil, Remus Lupin, Sybil Trelawney, and dozens of others. Many had been gravely wounded, including Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione. The two latter had become an adopted part of the Weasley family, taking refuge in the Burrow when they had to stop going home to protect their own families.

            Now, it was May, more than half a year after Arthur and Molly's deaths. Heartbroken, their children did not know what to do with the Burrow, Grimmuald Place, or even with their own lives. Fred and George had held onto Weasley Wizard Wheezes throughout the war and now that the apprehension was gone, wizards were gobbling up the popular pranks like a box of Bertie Bott's. Everyone was eager to put the rough times behind them and move on with their lives, rebuilding all that had been destroyed. Some things, though, could not be ignored. 

            The war's effects swiftly ran through George Weasley's mind as he trudged up the muddy dirt road to the south of the little town of Ottery St. Catchpole. The sun was weakly shining on him and flowers were blooming along either side of the road. Ahead of him was a span of oak trees. Beyond that, George knew what he would come upon. Beyond the trees was the Burrow.

**I've these dreams **

**I'm walking home**

Home where it used to be 

As George rounded the bend, his breath caught in his chest. The Burrow, although nearly abandoned for the past few months, looked desolate. The only sign of inhabitance were the few scrawny chickens that were still pecking around the front yard. None of the Weasley children had had the nerve to journey to the Burrow since the end of the war. Bill was working for the Ministry of Magic in Germany, trying to straighten out a few curses that were still lingering around an abandoned Death Eater hide out. Charlie was at Hogwarts, helping Headmistress McGonagall rebuild the spells that had broken around the castle at the demise of Dumbledore. Percy was buried in work at the Ministry or Magic, trying to help the new Minister, who had only been appointed a month ago, with getting situated. Ginny and Ron were still in St. Mungo's, although recovering very quickly now. Fred and George had been swamped with orders, and also Fred was still grieving the loss of his fiancée, Angelina.

            The only reason George had ventured to Ottery St. Catchpole was because he had been sent an urgent owl the day before about the Burrow. It was being auctioned, off and a "rightful owner must claim all property immediately". Shocked and unsure of what to do, George had come to the Burrow to see what could be done. Upon his arrival, the half-dozen loyal hens in the yard rushed up to George, clucking happily. Grinning, he crouched down and took a muffin out of the pocket of his indigo robes to feed to the chickens.

**And everything is**

**As it was**

**Frozen in front of me.**

            Crossing the threshold into the entrance hall gave George a strange feeling. The thought that the Burrow was to be sold to another wizard was unimaginable. How could anyone but a Weasley live in this house? As he walked down the hall, he peeked into the living room with its immense stone fireplace. Molly had already begun decorating for Christmas with garlands and strings of cranberries and popcorn that she had draped around the room. Even in the middle of May, the decorations did not seem out of place at all. Childhood memories came flooding back to George, and he could practically hear the laughter of days gone by reverberating in the house. ****

**Here I stand** ****

**6 feet small**

**Romanticizing years ago**

He made his way towards the back of the house, not quite sure as to what he was going to do. He stepped into the bright kitchen and walked a lap around the worn, wooden table that had weathered so many meals, experiments, and even food fights. George flicked on the wireless to give him a bit of distraction. It would not do to be blubbering like a baby at a time like this.

**It's a bittersweet feeling hearing **

**"Wrapped Around Your Finger"**

**On the radio**

            An advertisement for Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover   ended and the soft strains of an old song floated into the room. George recognized it in a moment and a huge smile spread across his freckled face.  The song, Celestina Warbeck's 'This Magical Mood', had been Molly Weasley's favorite song, and for a good reason. It was the best song to waltz to.  George sank into a chair and leaned his elbows onto the tabletop. He could almost see his brothers taking turns learning to waltz with their mother, laughing loud with bright eyes and faces red with excitement.  She had insisted that all of her children knew how the dance properly by the age of eight. Every winter, the children would finish their lunch and then go twirling around the cozy kitchen as if it were a grand ballroom. Whenever someone ran out of breath and needed a break, the next Weasley would jump in, forming a never-ending dance routine. Each year, the steps got more complicated and the tempos grew faster. Needless to say, knowing how to dance had absolutely been a benefit for Fred and George at Hogwarts. The Yule Ball in their sixth year had been the prime opportunity to show off their dancing skills. Fred had made quite a scene spinning around the dance floor with Angelina.

**And these days**

**I wish I was 6 again**

            All happy thoughts instantly vanished with the memory of the Angelina and the night of the Yule Ball. They had been so innocent back then. No one could have guessed at the events that were to occur during the next few years. George's head made a soft 'plunk' as it landed on the table before him, causing a little cloud of dust to fly up around him and settle in his Weasley-red hair.  

A day didn't pass without George going through a series of "what-ifs". What if his parents hadn't been right in the line of fire that night? What if Fred had been killed? What if Voldemort hadn't been finished off that night? What if one of his brothers, or even Ginny, had fallen victim to the Death Eaters? These thoughts weighed heavily on George. There was always the feeling that he could have done something a little differently; that changing his actions would have led to a life that did not have to be lost.

**Oh make me a red cape**

**I wanna be Superman**

            The waltz on the WWN ended and George spiraled out of his thoughts. He rose and switched off the loud rock music that was now playing.  Wandering out of the kitchen, George headed up the stairs to explore the house. First, he came to Percy's door. It stood open and George smiled with approval. Percy, being ever resourceful, must have cast a dusting spell or something of the sort. Even though his room had not been cleaned for at least seven months, it was still spotless and everything had a clean gleam to it. Chuckling, George continued up the stairs.

            The next landing was home to Ginny's room. Actually, it had originally been Bill's room. When Ginny was born, Bill and Charlie moved into the fourth floor bedroom, relinquishing his room to little Ron and Ginny. It had undergone a continuous change of decoration as Ginny's obsessions changed. One day, George had been in the room and it had been a pale pink with dolls and teddy bears on every surface. Not a week later, George had been shocked to find the pink walls covered with Weird Sisters posters, makeup and accessories on her dresser, and all of the dolls and bears stuffed into the closet.

Since then, the walls had been stripped and they had faded to almost white. On Ginny's bed was one solitary doll. On her nightstand were framed pictures of her friends from Hogwarts that winked and waved at George as he took a closer look. There was one astonishingly 'friendly' looking picture of Ginny and Harry from what must have been her sixth year, right before the first big attack on Hogwarts.

            George continued up the stairs to the third floor. The one he had anticipated since he first decided to come back home to the Burrow. This was the floor with his and Fred's bedroom. George swung the creaking door open to find the room practically untouched. It still looked like the bedroom of two teenage boys, if not marginally neater. Beaming, he crouched next to his bed and rooted around under it for the worn shoebox that had always been there. The twins had kept the first production of each Weasly Wizard Wheeze in the box, as a kind of miniature museum of Wheezes. Shocked, George pulled his arm out from under the bed without the box. He laid flat on his stomach and peered into the dim shadows. There was nothing.

            A bit annoyed, he got up and glared around his room. That box had contained everything from the first Ton Tongue Toffee and beyond. Suddenly, he spotted the infamous shoebox. It was sitting innocently on top of the boys' now-empty dresser. George rushed over to it, gave the charm to unlock it, and pulled off the lid. On top of the pile of first-edition Wheezes was a bit of folded parchment. He unfolded it and gasped at what he found.

Fred and George,

As disappointed as I am with the fact that you hid these from me, I won't do away with them. I'm proud of you two and proud of how well you've done since you left Hogwarts. Weasley Wizard Wheezes has done very well. You've grown into two of the finest young men I've ever known. Keep up the good work, and never forget your meager beginnings.

Mum 

            George smiled and wiped a tear from his cheek. He folded the note, put it back into the box, and left the box on the dresser. Not wanting to stay in the room for any longer, George continued up to the fourth floor of the house. 

            The door in front of George had a little sign hanging crooked that had "Ronald's Room" burned into the wood.  George opened the door and peeked in. He had never ceased to be surprised by his brother's choice of decoration. Orange was not a color that suited a Weasley very well. Even though, Ron had remained a faithful Chudley Canons fan. Even now at St. Mungo's, Ron had a new Canons bedspread and pillows to keep him company. Looking around, George spotted the second bed that Mr. Weasley had added to Ron's room, as a way to tell Harry that he was always welcome at the Burrow. Both Ron and Harry's trunks were sitting in the room as well, a Gryffindor scarf trailing from one.

            George stepped back out onto the landing, closing Ron's door behind him. All of the bedrooms had emitted a sense of innocence. George knew that none of the Weasleys would ever feel that particular feeling again. They had been through far too much to ever return to their naive happiness that they'd been living in before the Dark Lord had wreaked havoc on not just wizards, but the whole world.

**Oh if only my life were more like **

**1983**

**All these things would be more like they were at the**

**Start of me**

            A loud clatter game from above George and his hand jumped to his wand, which was withdrawn and pointing wildly about him before he even realized that he had moved. Calming down, he put his wand back into his robe pocket and chuckled at his jumpiness. The ghoul in the attic above him gave a moan and banged on a pipe or two before settling back down. Fifteen years ago, George never would have been so on-edge and paranoid.

**Had it made it 83**

            George pulled down the trap door into the attic and slid down the ladder. He lit the tip of his wand and climbed up into the attic. Expecting to have odds and ends chucked at him immediately by the foul-tempered ghoul, George shielded his face. Instead, all that he felt was a whoosh of cold air and sudden silence. Curious, he looked about and found himself face to face with the ghoul that he and his brothers had despised all throughout their adolescence. The ghoul had an expression of pure shock on its opaque face. Instead of moaning obnoxiously or banging around valuables, the ghoul merely nodded in approval, gave George what could only be considered a friendly grin, and floated over to a corner. It stayed in the corner and watched George with interest.  
            Unsure of himself, George decided to just act as if the ghoul wasn't there. The change of ways was quite unexpected and George couldn't make head or tails of it. Casually, George riffled through a few boxes of old muggle junk that his dad had stowed away years before. He stubbed his foot on an old school trunk, which he looked at with interest. Pulling it into the light coming from a window, George pulled open the lid. Inside were piles of pictures, old letters from school, and even old Prefect and Head Boy badges. Intrigued, George closed and levitated the trunk down the attic steps, waving a quick farewell to the now docile ghoul.  George closed up the attic and continued to levitate the trunk down four flights of stairs and into the kitchen. He emptied the contents of the trunk onto the wooden table and began sifting through the contents, coming across forgotten treasures like pictures he and his brothers and sister had drawn, and even a crown of oak leaves that Molly had lovingly packed away years ago. 

**Thinking 'bout my brother Ben**

**I miss him every day**

**He looks just like his brother John**

**But an 18 month delay**

Besides for seeing Fred every day, George had not seen any much of his siblings for the past few months. They had all kept in touch via owl, but none of them had time in their busy schedules to go visiting.  He promised himself that he would owl everyone, including Hermione, Harry, and even Neville and Oliver, when he returned to Diagon Alley. 

**Here I stand**

**6 feet small**

**And smiling cause I'm scared as hell**

George had never truly felt 'grown up'. Part of this could have been explained by his choice of career, but still, all of the responsibilities that his friends complained about continuously didn't seem to bother him. Sure, bills had to be paid and things had to be done, but to George it felt like a big game. The pressures of adulthood hadn't set in, he had decided the week before when he talked about this very subject in an owl to Charlie. George had had a tough time, no doubt. Watching friends and family members die around you is not a light-hearted subject. He had his share of problems, but he still kept a cheery outlook on life and woke up each day with a smile. Or, at least he used to, before the end of the war had taken such a toll on him. Realizing how depressed he had become in the past few months, George grimaced. To take his mind off of things, he sorted through more of the pictures from the trunk.

**Kind of like my life is like a sequel to a movie **

**Where the actors' names have changed**

**Oh well**

            There had been so many happy times in George's life. Smiling, he pulled out a little pile of pictures from Ginny's third birthday. Fred and George had been six, almost seven at the time. Her hair was curled and framed her chubby little face. Her brown eyes shined as she hugged what was obviously her new doll very tightly. With her other hand, she waggled her fingers at George. The next picture was one of Fred and George, wearing identical outfits and grins. Fred had bits of leaves in his hair and was holding a frog towards the camera. George was watching something on the outside of the picture at the moment, looking thoughtful.

Well these days 

**I wish I was 6 again**

**Oh make me a red cape **

**I wanna be superman**

            In the pile of pictures were snaps of each of the Weasley children on their first day of school at the Ottery St. Catchpole public school. Also were photos of each Weasley climbing aboard the scarlet Hogwarts Express for the first time.  

            The farther into the trunk George dug, the older the pictures became. As he thumbed through them, he watched his parents grow younger and younger, holding a baby Percy, a toddling Charlie, and even a little naked Bill taking a bath and giggling madly. Vowing to tell Bill all about the picture in his next letter, George continued to sift through the trunk.

**Oh, if only my life was more like **

**1983**

**All these things would be more like they were at the **

**Start of me**

**If my life was more like**

**1983**

**I'd plot a course to the source of the purest little part of me**

            As George came across snapshots of his older brothers swimming in the pond in the back garden and pictures from the many pick-up Quidditich games that had taken place over the years, George became more and more nostalgic.  With every memory that he was reminded of, he dreaded leaving the Burrow a little more. It was already noon and he hadn't even begun to pack up the family's belongings. Sighing, he started stacking the photos and trinkets back into the trunk. At the bottom of the pile of things that George had first dumped out, he came across a leather-covered book. He opened it and recognized his mother's handwriting from the note he had found with the Wheezes earlier. The date on the first page read 1970. Guessing that Bill was born around that time, George thumbed through the pages and watched as the dates ranged and jumped, eventually ending in 1999, the year that Ginny, the last Weasley, graduated from Hogwarts. He was surprised that his mother had kept a type of diary, especially after the whole Dear-Little-Ginny-Being-Possessed-By-The-Most-Evil-Wizard-Ever-To-Roam-The-Earth episode. He skimmed through a few dozen pages, surprised by how many important things he had forgotten. 

**And most my memories**

**Have escaped me**

**Or confused themselves with dreams**

**If heaven's all we want it to be**

**Send your prayers to me**

**    Care of 1983**

            George sighed and got out of the chair, putting the diary into the trunk as well. He walked back down the hall and towards the living room, taking a moment to glance at the family clock on the way. Besides for the 9 hands of the Weasleys, Arthur had added two more little golden hands for Hermione and Harry. The hands were pointing all which ways, many pointing to either 'work' or the also newly added 'St. Mungo's'. George's hand, however, was pointing to the simple, four letter word, 'home'. 

**You can paint that house a rainbow of colors**

**Rip out the floorboards **

**Replace the shutters but **

**That's my plastic in the dirt**

A door squeaked behind George, who spun around to see what happened, reaching for his wand. He was startled to see a professional-looking man standing in the entrance hall and obviously just as surprised to see George.

            "Mr. Weasley, I presume?" 

            "Er, yes. Call me George." George walked toward the portly and well-dressed man and shook his hand. "Can I help you?"

            "I'm Willard McDinglebloop, from the Personal Properties Department," he said in a nasally voice.

            "Right." After an uncomfortable pause, George continued, "Mr. McDinkleboot – "

            "McDinglebloop."

            "Right, sorry," George said, trying hard to keep a straight face. "About this whole 'auction' thing. I'd rather not do it. We, my brothers and my sister and I, decided not to sell the Burrow."

            "I see…" the man said, scrunching up his face and looking remarkably like Harry's cousin Dudley had when they were younger.

            "So. You can just give me the deed and I'll pay you whatever the money was that's owed on the house," George finished lamely.

            "Oh. You'll pay the difference, will you?" Mr. Dinkleblubber said with a smirk, "Do you know how much is owned on this, er, home?"

            "Well, it can't be that much," George faltered. 

            "If I'm not mistaken, the bills owed on this house have reached approximately 18,342 gallions, 17 knuts." 

            For a second, George thought he was going to pass out.

**Whatever happened to my**

**Whatever happened to my**

**Whatever happened to my lunchbox**

**When came the day that it got**

**Thrown away and don't you think I should have had some say**

**In that decision**

            "Mr. McBlabberboot – " George began.

            "McDinglebloop."

            "Right, er, well. That's an awful lot of money and I haven't got it."

            "Mr. Weasley," Mr. McBlabberboob began in a stern voice, "If we are finished here, I will bid you good day. Your possessions will need to be removed in the next twenty-four hours. If you are interested, you may owl the Personal Possessions Department for the results of the house auction."

            "WAIT!" George reached out and grabbed the arm of the retreating McBlubberoofus. "I – I think that I could come up with the money. If you'll just stop by this address in about an hour, I believe that I'll be able to pay you in full." George handed him a small white card from the pocket of his robes, giving him a reassuring smile.

* * * * *

            "You _WHAT_?!?" Fred shouted in disbelief when his brother broke the news to him.

            "I – er – mortgaged Weasley Wizard Wheezes to Gringotts and withdrew our savings," George said sheepishly from behind the counter of their joke shop. 

            "_WHY_?!" Fred shouted even louder, banging a crate of Canary Creams down onto the counter that was a violent shade of green.

            "To – to er – buy the Burrow."

            "_Buy_ the _Burrow_? From who?!" 

            George told the whole story to Fred while flailing his arms around and wildly gesturing at nothing in particular, all in a matter of minutes and looked at him expectantly. "And now, Mr. McDinklefisher is going to be here any moment! I couldn't let someone take the Burrow! Do you have any idea how _awful_ that – "

            "George!"

            "What!?"

            "It's all right," Fred said. "I wouldn't have let them take the Burrow either."         

            "Oh. Right then."

            And just like that, the drama that George had felt pressing down on him had vanished. Just because he was a grown man, he wouldn't have to give up his memories and childhood. Every good thing comes with sacrifices, and the Burrow was definitely worth the sacrifice. 

A/N: That was REALLY fun to write. I wrote it all in one night and now it's much past midnight and I've got to get up early tomorrow morning. Gah! Oh well. It will be worth the lack of sleep, I'm sure. I hope that you all liked this. I realize that the bold of some lyrics and the spacing of some things are off. They're fine on my computer but they got changed when they were uploaded to ff.net. Sorry.Tell me what you thought and EVERYONE should hear the song '1983' by John Mayer. And while you're at it, listen to '3x5' and 'Love Song for No One'. And finally, check out Oak Leaves, which is my series of vignettes about F&G when they were 6 years old (in 1983… how ironic!). Thanks for reading!


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